


Dance With Your Fear

by davonysus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ace Fest 2020, Asexual Character, Emotions, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Pining, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-War, also a lot of weird latin rituals, fest fic, liberal amount of performance analogies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26836135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/davonysus/pseuds/davonysus
Summary: After the war, Harry and Draco find themselves back at Hogwarts where everyone else seems to be moving on with their lives.They slip into old habits to cope and find themselves creating new ones, surprising each other in the process.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 68
Collections: Harry Potter Ace Fest 2020





	Dance With Your Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to HP Ace Fest mods, this was such a delight to create 🥺

_Even now that the battle was over, all of Draco’s movements seemed to start and end with Potter._

Many of the Slytherins hadn’t returned this year. Draco had resented McGonagall’s request for returning eighth-years to occupy the empty Slytherin dorm beds at first, even more so when students became civil with one another and started eating together in the Great Hall. Eventually everyone had accepted it, begun to enjoy it perhaps. Slowly the loss and horror that filled the air had dissipated with normality taking its place. It filled Draco with envy and a confusion he refused to address, for fear of recognising why he was the only person who couldn’t move past it all.

Potter seemed to be the only other exception to this. Still taking his every meal with Weasley and Granger, now joined by an assortment of eighth-years and the occasional younger Slytherin, Potter could almost be mistaken for enjoying himself as everyone else was. But Draco had spent too many of his waking hours watching Potter: this was very carefully masked suffering, all too relatable for his liking. For both of their sakes, he was determined to do anything possible to pull Potter out of his pity party and hopefully hitch a ride out while he was at it.

_It started with an insult that didn’t seem to hold the malice it once had. A familiar performance for them both._

Taunts about Potter’s family, though effortless, seemed meaningless after all both he and they had sacrificed. After Draco’s family had fallen from grace. In truth, Potter was miserable enough without Draco’s help these days. It didn’t stop the familiar words falling from his mouth—it had become a habit too long ago—but there was no bite, no hatred. Just a dull need for something he knew almost as well as he knew his own name.

Potter had given as good as he’d got, which was to say he’d made a half-hearted joke about ferrets before turning to leave, looking defeated as ever. Draco couldn’t remember seeing him happy for as long as they’d been back at Hogwarts and he refused to admit that he cared about why, instead focused on keeping Potter’s attention on him. It had only been for a split second, but as the Stinging jinx made contact with Potter’s left shoulder blade Draco saw the hint of a smile cross over his features.

_They had spent their lives rehearsing for this routine; a mutual acknowledgement that their friends were moving on with their lives, nearly six months after the final battle, and neither of them had done any such thing._

Hexes were thrown, pranks were pulled: their friends didn’t seem to understand why they couldn’t come to a truce— _after all, everyone else had_ —but after a few days nobody spared more than a sideways glance, the rivalry not being anything new. Draco found himself gravitating more and more towards Potter, frequently showing up outside classes that weren’t his and taking up new study locations just to occupy the same space. It didn’t escape his notice that Potter was doing precisely the same thing.

As timed passed, the tempo slowed. The pranks became tamer, the hexes not even mildly painful. By the time Christmas rolled around they were faking reactions for passersby as spells missed them entirely. The words they slung at each other didn’t hit the same, followed by smirks and the occasional outright grin. So tangled up in this routine, the holiday departure of their friends along with most of the castle was almost welcome.

_Less need for performative hexes thrown in front of watchful eyes. More need for someone who understood while the curtain was drawn._

It was habit, more than anything, that drew Draco to seek out the Astronomy Tower night after night. That was what he told himself as his stomach dropped every time the final set of stairs came into view. Yet to make it up to the top, most hours of his early mornings were spent curled up on the first step thinking over what had led him to this point in his life.

Tonight had started out no different to any other before it. It was a long walk up from the dungeons but Draco relished in the thought of moving his legs these days; staying in one place for too long made him antsy and he didn’t have the patience to deal with himself when he was more often than not his only company. Portraits stirred as he passed—though the final battle was months behind them, the anticipatory tension never seemed to leave their frames—but none seemed to rouse fully until he got closer to where someone seemed to be pacing back and forth at the base of the stairs ahead. Draco paused, hiding in the shadows beside a suit of armour before realising who he was watching. Did Potter really have to occupy every one of his waking hours?

 _Yes_ , supplied the unhelpful voice in his head. _All of your old haunts have begun to haunt you, and this fear was never yours to bear alone._

Shuddering at the thought, he took a few steps closer and inspected Potter’s face. The moon’s light illuminated his angular features as he paced towards the window before turning, casting his face into darkness. Draco marvelled at how though his face held so many conflicted emotions, his body seemed to move with an ease that he didn’t know if he’d ever witnessed before. Taking a minute to appreciate a moment he’d likely never bear witness to again, Draco allowed a soft smile before reminding himself why he continued to frequent this corridor.

_Sometimes they had been running from the pain. Sometimes they had been the ones to choreograph it._

Clearing his throat as he stepped out of the darkness, Draco saw Potter’s steps falter, his frame going rigid.

“Malfoy?” He asked before turning to confirm his answer. “You’re late—I mean, you’re usually here earlier… Bugger.” At least having the decency to look sheepish as his words trailed off to a mumble, Potter lifted an arm to run through his atrocious mop of hair before shrugging.

Draco surprised both of them by laughing; a light, unguarded sound that continued to echo beyond the distance between them. Regaining his composure after a moment, he smirked. “Still keeping an eye on me, Potter? Some things never change.”

“We’re at least thirty seconds without a hex, so I’d say some things do change.”

Exaggerating his sweeping gesture, Draco quirked an eyebrow. “Be my guest.”

Sighing, Potter shook his head. “I’m not here to duel, Malfoy.”

“But you are here for something.” It was an observation, not a question, and Draco knew Potter well enough to see his discomfort. “Tell me. Why have you followed me somewhere that anyone with a brain would realise I want to be alone?”

Shuffling his weight from side to side, Potter fidgeted with his too-long robe sleeves—would someone please find him something that fit?—as he took a moment to answer. Draco waited impatiently, sensing the shift in the air around them as Potter finally made up his mind.

“I’ve been… Scared to come here. Too much happened, y’know?” He kicked at the carpet with the front of a scuffed trainer, keeping his eyes down. “Then I saw that you were here all the time. How?”

“How, what exactly?” Draco questioned, even as he suspected he knew what was being asked. “Words, Potter.”

The fierce intensity behind Potter’s green eyes as they locked onto Draco’s gaze was mesmerising, all consuming. Draco felt his breath catch as he schooled his expression into the mocking boredom he so desperately strived for.

“We both know what happened here. How do you manage, night after night?” Before Draco could retort, Potter dropped his eyes again as his voice cracked on the final syllable. “Please.”

_As quiet fell over the auditorium, so too did quiet fall in their need to keep up appearances. They were breaking down the walls, brick by haunted brick._

“ _Dolor meus dolor tuus_.” Draco said, before glancing at the stairs leading up to the tower. He shrugged. “Your pain is my pain. It’s a Pureblood thing.”

Potter looked back from where he’d followed Draco’s gaze to the stairs. “I don’t understand.”

There was none of the mockery or sarcasm he’d expected from Potter and perhaps that was what led Draco to be so honest in his answer. Whatever it was, his guard finally dropped enough to feel the desperation surrounding them, a longing for connection, to be understood. He was too far gone to know if it was projecting from him or Potter, possibly both.

“I’ve continued to come here every night because I can’t go past that first stair. _Dolor meus dolor tuus_ is a… ritual, I suppose. When you’ve suffered a lot. Go to the place of the pain and sit with it until it sets you free. I’ve been trying, but—”

“I get it.” Potter nodded, taking a hesitant step closer to Draco before stopping. “What if… Would it help if someone else was with you?”

His heart threatened to escape his ribcage as Potter extended his hand, like Draco had done in this castle so many years ago.

“ _Dolor me—_ sorry, I’ve forgotten the rest.” Potter looked nervous as he waited, nibbling on his lower lip.

Walking to close the distance before taking the proffered hand, Draco felt like a weight had been lifted as he repeated the words slowly. “ _Dolor meus dolor tuus_.”

“ _Dolor meus… dolor tuus_. _Dolor meus dolor tuus_. Got it.” With a lopsided grin that had Draco’s stomach flipping, Potter took his hand back and used it to point at the stairs. “Shall we?”

_The first notes had been played, the tempo was set. They shared a burning need to face the music as they began learning to dance with their fear._

It had been several weeks since that night and Draco still wasn’t sure he was ready for this. It took every ounce of courage not to turn on his heels and flee—even with Potter standing beside him—and he cursed himself for being so easily swayed by persuasive green eyes accompanied by poorly-pronounced Latin words.

“Draco.”

Looking to see Potter watching him intently, Draco dipped his head again to avoid looking at those entrancing eyes. Why Potter felt okay subverting from surnames he wasn’t certain, all he knew that was that the first time his name had fallen from that mouth he’d been forced to throw a hex, for old times’ sake. It had nothing to do with how much he wanted to hear it again, and everything to do with the fact that he knew he was alone in this emotional crusade. At this point he wasn’t sure which was worse: the feelings he refused to address, or the tapestry before them both that housed a door so darkly charred it was evident it would never open again.

“We can come back tomorrow night if you prefer. I don’t mind.”

Shaking his head, Draco reminded himself that the heat he was feeling was imagined. The Fiendfyre had ravaged the room but it was long gone, only memories leaving the whisper on his skin.

“If you hadn’t come back for me that day…” Voice barely audible, Draco hated how small he felt. He chanced a look at Harry and found himself pinned again.

“ _Dolor meus dolor tuus._ I couldn’t have left you to burn. Those flames…” Turning his head to look at the door again, Harry shuddered as he pressed his eyes closed. “And you saved me at the Manor, anyway.”

Never taking his eyes from the boy beside him, Draco felt the corners of his mouth pull up in a hopeful smile. “ _Dolor meus dolor tuus,_ Potter.”

_Neither had auditioned for this role, yet somehow they both were cast; repeating the words they’d both grown to know so well as they slowly mastered every ounce of the lingering fear._

“Remind me again why this doesn’t count?”

Harry laughed beside him—he was Harry now, of course he was, though Draco would never say it aloud—as he reclined in the seat and turned to look at the players flying around the pitch, getting in their last flight before the Easter holidays. “Nothing that horrible happened here, did it? Aside from the Dementors, I guess.” Sneaking a sideways look at Draco, Harry elbowed his ribs. “Which I think I have you to blame for.”

“I can hardly be blamed for the whims of dark creatures,” Draco drawled, trying to mask his discomfort. Guilt was hardly a new feeling these past years, but coupled with the familiar tone of Harry’s voice it was almost enough to make him regret agreeing to meet here. “Ow!”

The git was laughing now, having smacked Draco across the back of his head before leaning on his knees to snicker. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“That was incredibly rude and just goes to show your poor upbringing.” The words were out before Draco had a chance to stop them, his hands coming up to cover his mouth as he watched the shaking of Harry’s shoulders still. “I didn’t—”

Harry cut off Draco’s muffled apology with a raised hand, keeping his gaze locked ahead. “I might not like your parents much, but at least they got to raise you. My aunt and uncle, they…”

Hearing the pain, anger and need for approval that went unsaid, Draco started to reach a hand towards Harry’s shoulder before thinking better of it, wary that it might be too much. “ _Dolor meus dolor tuus?_ ”

The pleading look in Harry’s eyes as he turned to face Draco was all the confirmation he would ever need. “I never want to go back there. Not even for that.”

“Then you won’t have to.”

Rewarded with a forgiving smile, Draco warmed as he watched Harry settle back against his seat before attempting to prove his point once more.

“So aside from the Dementor thing, which we have decided I can’t blame you for, have I missed anything horrible?”

“Here?” Draco questioned. At Harry’s nod, he began to count on his fingers. “There was the time you broke your arm and then lost all your bones. Oh! How could you forget Weasel—Weasley, sorry—vomiting slugs? Or the time that—”

“Draco, that’s not what I mean.” He sighed, the weight falling on his shoulders seemingly ageing him at least forty years. “Like… The Astronomy Tower, Room of Requirement. Big things. The Great Hall, though I think we’re both managing there okay. I guess Malfoy Manor for me, maybe for you too? Oh. Hogwarts Express,” he said as he gestured towards his nose with a sideways glance before rolling his eyes. “Should I continue, or do you get the point?”

“Alright, Potter. Nothing that bad here then. What exactly is your point?”

Recognising a nervous habit as Draco watched Harry pick at his fingernails, there were a few moments of silence before he spoke again.

“I’ve only really got happy thoughts about Quidditch, y’know? And that’s kinda what we’re doing. Cancelling out the bad stuff and making it happy again.”

“Quite the oversimplification,” Draco said even as he conceded Harry’s point with a nod. “But go on.”

Sitting up straighter, Harry’s eyes came alight as he looked towards Draco. “No pain here. No Latin here. Out here it’s just… Us. Us being friends, if you want?”

Hoping he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt, Draco gulped. “What about—what about everyone else?”

“They’re used to us by now. You know it. Besides, they all started to like each other long before we did.”

Unsure how true that statement was anymore, Draco cast his mind back to the months before Christmas. Harry was right. There was nobody left to impress, no barriers left to break.

“So… What do you say? More than just _dolor meus dolor tuus_?”

Draco looked away, scared of what he might reveal if he stayed the focus of Harry’s eager expression. “Yeah, I guess we can be friends out here.”

_Finding their rhythm, they performed the most captivating pas de deux their audience had ever seen. What had once been a rivalry had become a friendship, built on a mutual desire to feel._

“Voldemort killed me in the Forbidden Forest.”

“Oh.” Draco tried to keep a neutral tone, realising that his mother’s story had more truth to it than he’d initially suspected. He watched as Harry kept a stoic face, the movement of clenching in his jaw the only sign he thought about this more than he was letting on. “Want to go there?”

Harry moved his queen across the board, taking out one of Draco’s knights in the process. “Not really.”

The lake cast patterns on the walls of the common room as their friends continued conversations by the fire, unaware of the significant moment Harry was sharing with him. Once again Draco had to remind himself that this was their reality now, that nothing would take this away from him.

“Liar. Tomorrow night?”

Snorting, Harry looked up from where Draco was taking his rook. “ _Dolor meus dolor tuus._ Yeah, alright then.”

Trying to hide his smile as he heard the familiar words fall from Harry’s mouth once more, Draco simply nodded in response. Somehow in the few months since that fateful meeting by the Astronomy Tower they had fallen into step, and this practice was becoming infinitely easier with a partner.

_Both had danced with Death: one pushed into an intimate tango with Him from birth, the other simply waltzing too close in a tryst neither dared to speak of._

Blue eyes met green in silent challenge as they stood side by side in front of the cloudy mirror in the once-again flooded bathroom.

“The Chamber of Secrets was in here, did you know that? I almost died in my second year.”

Draco’s raised eyebrow was punctuated with a glare, even as his voice trembled. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, Potter, but isn’t this one about me? You did almost kill me, after all.”

“Not Potter.” he corrected softly, before barraging ahead with a raising voice. “I know. I wish I could take it back, I didn’t know what the spell did and I am so—”

“Harry, shut up.”

They both breathed shakily as their reflections showed the other what they were each too proud to say, even now: “sorry” wasn’t even close to covering what had brought about that incident, but their mutual fear and will to survive had been stronger than either conscience. Draco shook with all of the unspoken emotions and hoped that Harry couldn’t see it, despite so obviously seeing and feeling Harry quiver next to where he stood.

Nodding before letting out a heavy sigh, Draco let his eyes fall shut on the scene before him. “ _Dolor meus dolor tuus._ ”

The words echoed next to him, filling him with a deep comfort. He chose not to mention the hand that had found his as they stood in silence, letting the pain wash away from another memory.

_And so the dance continued. Sometimes they led, sometimes they followed. Were they ready for their curtain call?_

“I have something I’ve been meaning to tell you, actually. About… About what you said yesterday. When you were talking with Weasley.”

They were in the stands overlooking the Quidditch pitch again: the only place where Draco felt like he could be every part his true self with Harry.

“About sex?”

Harry’s voice caught on the words, causing Draco to chuckle lightly. Some things never changed.

“Yes, Harry. Sex.” Pausing, Draco considered how best to put it. “I don’t… Really feel that way about anyone. At all.”

“Like, you don’t like anyone right now?”

Shaking his head, Draco had to tear his eyes away from Harry’s face. The naive confusion was cute. He wasn’t sure he was entirely ready to see it slip away.

“No, I mean I don’t feel that way _ever_.”

“Oh.”

Harry paused for a moment and Draco’s heart sank into his stomach, wishing he’d simply kept his mouth shut.

“That’s… Unexpected.”

“How do you mean?” Draco asked, voice shaking even as he tried to keep his tone neutral.

“Not in a bad way!” Harry rushed to say, words practically falling out of his mouth over the top of each other. “It’s not a new concept. I just—you always seemed so—” He stopped there, hands coming up to cover his flustered face. “You should talk to Luna about it,” he added as a muffled afterthought.

“Lovegood? Why?”

Harry dropped one hand as he brought the other up through his hair absentmindedly. “She, er. She’s the same. You guys might, er, y’know.”

Connecting the dots, Draco raised an eyebrow in Harry’s direction. “She’s also related to me, you idiot.”

“Oh. Well, you could still talk about it?” Harry paused, a small frown forming between his brows as he thought. “She said… Asexual, she said. She seemed to know a lot about it. Maybe she knows other asexual people?”

“Is that what you think then? That I can only date someone who… Someone like me?”

Cursing himself for how small he both sounded and felt, Draco picked up the end of his scarf and started tugging at a thread to avoid Harry’s gaze. It wasn’t that he’d been hoping Harry would tell him he was the same, or that it didn’t matter because he loved him anyway, no. Those feelings could die in Fiendfyre for all he cared.

“Of course not,” Harry said. “I’m just trying to think of girls who would understand and in the case of Luna, wouldn’t drive you mad within the first hour. Shame about the cousin thing, really.”

Draco barked a hollow laugh, tipping his head back with a sigh. “Yeah. Real shame.”

“What about Pansy? You like her, don’t you?”

Rolling his eyes, Draco turned to look at Harry again. “You’re not serious, are you?”

Shrugging, Harry shot Draco a conspiratory look. “Why not? Second cousins?”

“No, you idiot. Aside from Pansy being the type of girl who probably needs sex, she’s also not my type at all.”

“I see.” Harry frowned, leaving Draco resisting the urge to smooth out the crinkling skin between his eyebrows. “So… Just not a fan of dark hair?”

 _Oh, you have no idea._ “No, Harry. Just not a fan of girls.”

He watched as Harry’s eyes widened slightly before his head dropped, gaze focused on where his hands were tightly gripping his knees.

“I had no idea,” Harry whispered. “All this time…”

“No need to be so dramatic about it,” Draco grumbled. “Or is this the part that’s too much for you?”

The silence around them seemed deafening as Draco refused to look up from where his fingers were tugging at the end of his emerald green scarf. Curse his feelings for encouraging him to talk. What they’d had before now was good. It wasn’t enough for Draco—he wasn’t sure if there would ever be enough of Harry for him, honestly—but it was bearable, and manageable, and Merlin’s beard it was _necessary_. Like the promise of water given to a man in the desert, Harry had managed to keep him persevering for so long now. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to that just yet.

_Taking that final pose, offering themselves up for judgement. They’d shared pain, shared fear. Maybe they could share something more._

“Draco…” Harry paused, his breath shaky as he shifted beside Draco. “Remember that first night? _Dolor meus dolor tuus_ , you said. Your pain is my pain.”

Confused, Draco turned to see Harry mere inches from his face, green eyes locked on his with a burning intensity that had his heart stop in its tracks. He gulped as he nodded, unable to speak.

“We have a similar saying in the Muggle world, I think. What’s mine is yours. Actually no, it’s used in a very different ritual, I guess… I don’t know.”

Leaning back slightly to brush a hand through his hair again, Harry threw Draco that slightly crooked grin and he knew then, with more certainty than ever before, that he was hopelessly and irreversibly lost on Harry Potter.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… This whole year. This thing with us. I wouldn’t have made it through without you, y’know? Maybe it was all about your pain and my pain, everyone’s pain I guess. We were just holding onto all of it. But now it’s not about the pain any more, is it?” Eyes dropping, Harry bit gently on his lower lip and lowered his voice. He seemed less sure of himself, more like the child Draco had once met. “Is it? It’s not for me.”

Certain that his racing heart could be heard all the way in Hogsmeade at this point, Draco focused on slowing his breathing as he tried not to get ahead of himself. “What is it about then?”

Green eyes met his once more as Harry looked up from underneath dark lashes. “All of it, Draco. All of you. _Dolor meus dolor tuus_ , of course. Your pain is my pain, but I’d like the rest of you, if you want me. I don’t need what you’re not willing to give. Just… Us. As we are, right now.”

“You’re sure?” The words were barely a whisper, Draco hardly daring to believe this was real.

Nodding before reaching to tangle his fingers with Draco’s around the woolen scarf, Harry whispered back. “What’s mine is yours. All of it. I’m yours.”

_The music came to an end and they basked in the glow of their standing ovations, incredibly well deserved. After all, this was what they’d been rehearsing for._

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [tumblr](https://cdav.tumblr.com) for more of my writing/fandom things/chaotic existence!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Dance With Your Fear](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27284389) by [semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperfiona/pseuds/semperfiona_podfic)




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